Going poetic again

ginger now means the hair of the
girl whose presence you appreciated as
a silent thing in the back of your
mind watching you try to
be a gentleman

with all others you were good enough
subject to failings just like all human
beings in the early 21-st century
caveman dna still running the show
unmodified by anything other than
soft layers of culture

but with her you distilled the essence of
what made you different from the fleshy
breed of refrigerator-men at work lifting
weights later going to the pub drinking
fighting catching a chick or two for the
night going strong since the cro-magnons

in the imaginary world built on the
synapses between your brain cells you were
civilised with ease talked well danced like a
prince during spring ball smiled listened
opened doors made little gestures of attention

you liked having long conversations with her
then moving on to touch and taste
her locks vaguely reminiscent of your favourite
spice her scent filling your pleasure centres while
others watched you grinning through your closed
eyes then went on minding their own business